


C’est la Mort

by Feyland



Series: Vampires of Paris [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Blood Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, Multi, Oral Sex, Other, Rough Oral Sex, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2020-12-28 09:41:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21134621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feyland/pseuds/Feyland
Summary: Claquesous and his new fledgeling Montparnasse come across an odd young human who knows far too much about the vampires of Paris.Sequel to Iron & Vein





	1. Chapter 1

“It’s the same reason restaurants plate their food,” Montparnasse explained, his voice tailored to a low murmur he knew only Claquesous could hear. Even as they moved through the crowd of people along the riverbank, the delicate capabilities of human ears did not even register the conversation.

“The presentation is half the experience. And my eyes are better now than they ever were – I may as well use them to help me enjoy my meal.”

“I confess, I have not had the opportunity to spend much time in restaurants,” Claquesous replied. “But I do not think that such displays of food are meant to titillate in the manner you’re describing.

“No, but restaurants don’t require me to seduce my own meal,” Montparnasse grinned.

Claquesous’s lip curled upwards despite himself. Montparnasse had developed this habit of choosing his prey based on appearance almost immediate after his Turning. He claimed that the sweeter the face, the more he enjoyed the blood, regardless of whether or not it altered the taste. Claquesous, too, could only deny the practice so much, since his own obsession with Montparnasse’s human blood had been closely tied to the significant attraction he had had to the young man himself.

“You do not _need_ to seduce your food,” he said instead. “You have the strength to overcome any human you like, with far less effort. And that is to say nothing of the particular, powerful brand of persuasion you have at your disposal.”

Montparnasse smiled, his fangs tauntingly on display. “But what would be the fun in that?” he said wickedly, before his attention was suddenly snapped up. Like a bloodhound, his senses had latched onto something. Claquesous followed the gaze, finding the next creature unlucky enough to have caught the eye of ta thirsty young vampire. Through the riverbanks evening crows, a solitary figure expertly dodged tourists and straggling sidewalk hawkers, flitting like a bird towards Pont Marie. Without a word, Montparnasse took off just as gracefully, with Claquesous falling into step behind him., Montparnasse was focused, the natural hunter locked onto his target. Claquesous, recently satiated, took the opportunity to observe the human they tailed, doing what he could to see the hunt through Montparnasse’s eyes.

The figure was small, their oversized clothing hiding much of their physique, but as they turned onto the bridge, Claquesous caught a glimpse of a soft, round face, large brown eyes, and a length of russet-coloured hair tucked into their scarf. It was clear to Claquesous why Montparnasse had chosen them. They were far from the standard of perceived contemporary beauty, with mismatched features that mirrored their eclectic clothing. But there was a charm to their face, something that harkened back to old words of art with imperfectly perfect subjects. This was the kind of face that tended to draw Montparnasse in, as through the blood in their veins held the secret of their looks.

The crowds were thinning out as Claquesous and Montparnasse trailed their prey from a distance, across the bridge onto Ile Saint-Louis, After the fall of darkness, the island traffic diminished significantly, with people scattering to one bank of the Seine or the other to patronize the bars and restaurants that stayed lively well into the night. Montparnasse’s target strolled casually along, going nowhere in any real hurry. Behind them, two figures slipped in and out of the shadows, as through they were extensions of the darkness.

The island was not wide, and soon enough, the figure reached Quai d’Anjou, moving to lean up against the short stone wall overlooking the river and the right bank beyond. In a cue of no sound and very little movement besides, Claquesous fell back into the shadow of a boarding house, hidden as he watched Montparnasse move forward with his work. The figure looked to all the world as though they were lost in thought, enchanted by the lights glittering on the water, their lack of attention all the more obvious when Montparnasse spoke.

“Pardon me,” he purred, at a volume just loud enough to make them start and turn around, immediately wary of the strange man, however handsome and charming he appeared.

_Smart child_, thought Claquesous darkly. In the case of another kind of predator, such sharpness might have been enough.

“Sorry to bother you,” Montparnasse continued pleasantly, moving closer to the young thing – they really couldn’t be much older than Montparnasse appeared – and to their credit, they shrank back from his approach.

To Montparnasse’s credit, he stopped.

“I was just wondering,” he said quickly,” if you knew anywhere around here I could get a decent bite to eat.”

Claquesous fought the urge to roll his eyes, instead watching fascinated as the target’s body languages shifted slowly into something more comfortable. How Montparnasse had charmed them so easily, without even a drop of extra persuasion in his voice, was beyond Claquesous.

“Oh,” the target said, their voice high with surprise and something else – understanding? “But you aren’t really looking for a restaurant, are you?”

Claquesous watched Montparnasse cock his head.

“I’m not trying to hit on you or anything,” he said, a faint edge slipping into his voice. “I was just hoping you could recommend something.

“Well, I suppose I could,” they replied, “but I don’t think you would find much on the menu you would enjoy.”

“Why do you say that?” said Montparnasse.

“Well, I just don’t know many restaurants that cater to vampires.”

The silence that followed their words seemed to suck the air out of the street, making Claquesous feel breathless for the first time since he had ceased needing to breathe. Immediately, he scanned the figure speaking to Montparnasse so casually, searching for signs of vampirism he could have missed. But no, the flush in their cheeks was certainly blood – tuning into them, Claquesous could hear their heartbeat even from a distance. They were human. Painfully so.

And yet.

“I-I beg your pardon?” Montparnasse said, his voice echoing the same surprise racing through Claquesous.

The human smiled then, giving Montparnasse a knowing look. “Sorry for not playing along. If you really are looking to feed, I’m not busy at the moment. Maybe we should find somewhere a little more secluded, though.”

“I-,” Montparnasse said, faintly, lost for words. He turned back towards the shadows where Claquesous was hidden, equally shocked.

“Oh,” said the figure. “Are you out with friends? I’ve found I can really only comfortably feed one person at a time. I do need to be able to get home afterwards.”

Montparnasse looked utterly lost, his eyes wide, and Claquesous could nearly see the way the mind was whirring. Sighing slightly, he moved out of the darkness, slipping in beside Montparnasse.

“Hello,” the would-be victim said warmly. “I’m sure you could hear, but was just telling your friend I am happy to offer some blood. I’m afraid I can’t willingly part with too much more than a single serving, though, and I would prefer if you didn’t force my consent.”

What a strange young human, Claquesous could not help but think. So instantly trusting while still apparently fully aware of how they could be easy overpowered or manipulated. Every human he had ever known with a knowledge of vampires had been tied to one in some way, a mutually beneficial pact of sustenance and ecstasy. But these vampires often kept their human pets close, forbidding others from drinking from them without express permission. Even if this odd creature was kept by someone within the city, Claquesous knew of no one who would allow such a thing. 

All this, though, was impossible to communicate with the human offering up their veins with cheerful conditions. Instead, he responded as simply as he could, curious to see where the night would lead.

“I’ve eaten.”

“Well that works, then!” said the human, brightly, and held out their hand to the two shocked vampires. “My name is Jehan. It’s really very nice to meet you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been sitting on a sequel to Iron & Vein for a while but now it benefits from my Jehanparnassous infatuation oops.   
I’m on tumblr at feyland.tumblr.com ✌️


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for blood, blood drinking, references to wounds on the neck and the wrist.

“I know a place.”

It was all Claquesous had had to say to convince the strange human to accompany him and Montparnasse away from prying eyes. He moved ahead of Jehan, who walked calmly next to Montparnasse, and Claquesous listened to Montparnasse reveal their names to Jehan before falling into a strange silence. Claquesous could feel the pulse of distrust mixed with curiosity coming off of the other vampire; it was likely Montparnasse was feeling the same thing in return. The sooner they could get to a place to speak openly, the better. Thankfully, they didn’t have far to go to reach the rusted gate to a small courtyard, overgrown and flush with natural places to sit unseen.

“It’s beautiful!” Jehan said, their voice hushed with reverence.

“It’s private,” Claquesous replied, leading them towards a stone bench up against a wall, half covered with ivy. “This building is abandoned.”

“How Romantic,” Jehan sighed, triggering a strange noise from Montparnasse, who watched them with uncertain bemusement. “In the artistic sense,” they explained, reading his expression. “Sublime, wild. A touch of medievalism. A defiance of structure. Perhaps a little bit tinged with death. Being alive in the middle of it all. _‘The spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings’_, as the English poet put it.” They smiled serenely. “Seems like a lovely place for a meal.”

Montparnasse met Claquesous’s eye, as though searching for the answers to his questions there. He wouldn’t find them, of course – Claquesous was just as thrown by the human’s behaviour.

Montparnasse followed as Jehan sat down on the bench, breathing in the smell of vegetation decaying into new life.

“How did you know?” Montparnasse asked, the question Claquesous was also eager to have answered, though he said nothing.

“What you were? I know quite a few vampires,” Jehan said simply, that same strange, subdued smile on their face. “Some of my closest friends.”

“Where the fuck did you meet ‘quite a few’ vampires?” Montparnasse said, far more aghast than he had the right to be. After all, Claquesous thought, Montparnasse had been himself introduced to a room full of vampires in the most intimate of ways. But he remained silent, his own curiosity overpowering the urge to provoke.

“I was invited by a good friend to join a group that promote human rights. That was technically true, as it turns out, but I certainly hadn’t expected it to be organized by a 500-year-old gentleman who wanted to be certain he was respecting modern ethics when interacting with humans. It was quite clever, really. There were seven of us humans, at the time, and he introduced us to a group of other like-minded vampires. We started meeting regularly to discuss human-vampire coexistence, but we very quickly became quite close as friends.”

“So a bunch of vampires round up a bunch of humans for- advice? With no ulterior motives?” The snark from Montparnasse did little to cover the raw interest radiating from him. For all his impressive strengths, his desires were still easy to read to Claquesous. He could never fool his sire with what he was feeling, nor could he hide his wants. Montparnasse simply wanted too hard. Though he made no move towards Jehan, he was still hungry, Claquesous knew, but had evidentially managed to set the hunger aside for the sake of conversation.

“You mean, do they feed on us?” Jehan said mildly. “Yes, though it took some convincing.”

“How is that? They broke into their persuasion to lure you in?” Montparnasse spared a glance at Claquesous, the shadow of a smile pulling at his mouth.

“Oh no, I mean it took convincing on our part, I mean. Courfeyrac was actually quite resistant to the idea for a while. He claimed it was the poorest of manners feed on one’s guests. I argued that we were here to advise them on ethics, and what could be more ethical than enthusiastic consent?”

“Courfeyrac?” Claquesous’s brow was furrowed as Jehan looked his way.

“Yes!” said Jehan. “Do you know him?”

“No,” Claquesous replied, slowly. “Not personally. We have not met, but I have heard of him. He has something of a…reputation, one could say.”

Jehan’s docile smile grew bigger, almost wolfish at that. “Oh I would _love_ to hear anything you’ve heard. He likes to be so coy with his history until he gets the opportunity to drop something absolutely mad. I can’t tell when he’s teasing anymore.”

“Perhaps,” said Claquesous, letting his face settle back into blankness. “Who are the others you know?”

“Well, other than Courfeyrac – there’s Feuilly, Grantaire, Cosette – I’ve also briefly met her - father? Her sire? He’s both, technically. He mostly keeps to himself, though. And then there’s Musichetta and Bossuet – and now Joly, as of recently. That was really interesting, actually, seeing someone I knew as a human be Turned. It was a lovely gesture, though, a pledge of love between him and Bossuet and Musichetta, so that they wouldn’t have to leave him behind.” Jehan sighed, their eyes sparkling. “And not to mention how different young vampires can be. He was only Turned two years ago. I’ve never met one so young.”

Claquesous looked sideways at Montparnasse. He wondered. Montparnasse had developed a habit of seeming significantly older than he was, something the very young man was quire proud of. He picked up mannerisms easily, matching the speech patterns of anyone he spoke to, and could copy the cadence of a creature centuries old. But beside that was the desire for attention, a desire he was trying to satiate beside Jehan.

“Actually,” he cut in smoothly, avoiding Claquesous’s eye, “I believe now you have.”

Jehan blinked, their mouth falling into an O. “How old are you?” they demanded, delight clear in their voice.

Montparnasse smiled, that charming, self-satisfied look he donned when he had caught what he was after. “In human years or vampire years?”

“Both!”

“Well. I was 21 when I was Turned. Which would now make me…22.”

Montparnasse’s smile widened at the shock on Jehan’s face. They scanned his face, as though they could find the lie there. Detecting none, they breathed out a laugh.

“You’re _younger_ than me!”

“So it would seem.”

“What about you?” they demanded, turning to Claquesous, the gleeful awe still all-encompassing.

“Oh, he’s an old man,” Montparnasse said dismissively. “A dirty old man, really – robbing the cradle and then freezing his young piece of ass in time.”

Jehan’s laugh was like a peal of bells as Claquesous glared at Montparnasse, refusing to rise to the commonly set bait.

“Were you not hungry?” he said instead, just loud enough so Jehan could hear.

“Touchy in your old age,” Montparnasse sniffed before turning towards Jehan. “Are you certain? Your…friends won’t mind?”

“Why should they mind? It’s my blood. I’m offering it of my own volition.”

“Some vampires can be pretty possessive of their pets,” Montparnasse said, though Claquesous could see that his teeth had already descended, caught in the dim light.

Jehan wrinkled their nose. “_Pet_ is a bit of a condescending term, isn’t it? Ward, maybe, in an exclusive relationship. But I’m neither, to anyone. I feed my friends when they’re hungry. I’m happy to feed you too. Actually, I should warn you.” They leaned in closer to him, as though keeping a secret just between the two of them. “I’m already considering you a friend.” They looked up at Claquesous. “You too,” they said simply, and scooted over until they were thigh to thigh with Montparnasse, tipping their head back and exposing their neck. “This is most comfortable for me, but if you’d rather my wrist, that’s also okay with me.”

“This works,” Montparnasse said, his voice growing husky as he stared at the neck, moving an arm around them to support their back, and bent his head to their throat.

As the fangs pressed into Jehan’s skin, Claquesous let out a breath at the same time as Montparnasse, as though he was feeling the relief of the feeding himself. He had seen Montparnasse hunt and drink dozens of times, something he didn’t think he would ever stop enjoying. But this was the first time someone had offered themselves up like this, the first victim to know what was going on. Not that Jehan could be considered much of a victim. Every word that should have sent them running caused nothing but delight and understanding. Even as Montparnasse hungrily pushed himself closer to them, draining them little by little with every swipe of his tongue, he did not need to use a shred of his persuasion keeping them docile. And yet they smiled, and cooed, making little gasping noises when the first bite mark clotted and Montparnasse pressed his fangs into their flesh again. He was careful with them, his usual flippant regard for his meals not at all present in his tender treatment of Jehan. It was almost enough to make Claquesous look away.

Almost.

As Jehan sighed into the pulse of venom in their veins, as Montparnasse dragged his tongue over their sensitive human skin, Claquesous could swear he felt a tug at his insides, somewhere near where his centuries-dead heart once beat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloweeeeeeen!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for rough sex/rough oral sex, blood drinking, blood drinking uh during? sex. Yeah.

Once Montparnasse had finished his meal with a final swipe of his tongue, and Jehan had pulled away with a dreamy look and a soft smile, the agitated desire to finish the strange hunt had grown significantly in Claquesous. He wasn’t paying attention as Jehan murmured something to Montparnasse, focused on the courtyard gate, trying to think of a way to cut the encounter short, until he realized Jehan was reciting a string of numbers that Montparnasse recorded into his phone.

“I would love to do this again, or even introduce you to my friends,” Jehan was saying, their voice breathy and delicate as they floated on a significant dose of venom. “I like the way you feed. Everyone is so different, you know? It’s nice.”

“I’m happy to provide,” purred Montparnasse, the satisfaction of a successful feeding mixing with his natural charisma. “If I may say so, you’re absolutely delicious.”

Claquesous cleared his throat. “We should be going.” He made himself meet Jehan’s eye, and pursed his lips. “Do you need help getting home?”

“Mm, no, I should be fine,” they said, their voice still cheerful despite it sounding like it was coming from under water. “I don’t have far to go.”

“If you’re sure,” Montparnasse said, walking Jehan to the gate , Claquesous trailing behind.

“I am. Thank you for your concern, and for the lovely, unexpected evening. Give me a call soon!”

“I will. Goodnight, Jehan.”

“Goodnight, Montparnasse. Claquesous.” Jehan offered them one last slow, beaming smile before turning and lightly making their way down the dark street.

Montparnasse leaned up against the stone wall watching them go, Claquesous at his shoulder.

“Interesting, huh?” Montparnasse said, easily, the satiated warmth still radiating from him. Claquesous could smell the sweet, metallic smell of blood mixed with the distinct essence of Jehan still clinging to the air around them.

“Yes,” he said, and began to walk the opposite way Jehan had gone, towards the apartment Montparnasse had insisted on keeping despite the perfectly comfortable house Claquesous kept in the suburbs.

“So you’ve heard of this Courfeyrac?” Montparnasse pressed, strolling casually beside him. “Do you know any of their other friends?”

“No,” said Claquesous, nearly leaving it there. But then – “I have heard of a few. I knew of Musichetta, and her first lover. I did not know she had a second. The others are strangers to me.”

Montparnasse hummed. “Are there a lot of groups that big in the city?”

“I do not know of any,” said Claquesous.

“Big,” repeated Montparnasse thoughtfully. “And interesting. Keeping that many humans around. Letting them run around offering their neck to any vampire they meet. I haven’t heard of anything like that. Have you?”

“No,” said Claquesous.

“Well, what did you think? About Jehan?” Montparnasse pressed, and Claquesous could feel his gaze on him. He did not turn to meet it.

“Strange,” he replied, hoping it was enough to satiate Montparnasse.

It was not.

“That’s it? A pretty human turns up, knows what you are, and offers you their frankly intoxicating blood all on their own accord and _strange_ is all you can think of to describe them?”

“I did not care to taste them.”

Montparnasse scoffed, and Claquesous finally turned his head to meet the eye of his indignant-looking fledgling.

“Are you jealous?” Montparnasse demanded.

Claquesous turned his head away again. “No.”

“Yeah, you’re really selling me on that,” snarked Montparnasse. He said nothing a moment, and then added: “You really should have tasted them, though. Their blood was something else.”

Claquesous did not reply, and Montparnasse fell into silence beside him until they had reached the door to the apartment.

“You wanna watch something?” Montparnasse said as he kicked off his shoes, moving easily through the flat despite the lack of light. “Or we could-”

His eyes hadn’t been on Claquesous, and he blinked, surprised, when he found himself being forced up against the wall by strong, tense arms.

“Ahhh,” he exhaled, a sly smile creeping onto his face as Claquesous lifted him off his feet, pinning him just high enough so that their eyes met at the same level. “That’s what you want to-”

He was cut off again when Claquesous pushed their lips together with force that would have cracked a human’s skull against the wall. Montparnasse, however, laughed into the violent embrace, pushing back as hard as he could. The scent of Jehan on his breath tumbled out with the laugh, and Claquesous snarled at the smell, unceremoniously dropping Montparnasse back to his feet, pressing his greater height up against the other man. His mouth was still an attack of hard kisses as he worked on stealing ever sound Montparnasse made.

“All…this…. because you’re…Ahhh…..jealous?” Montparnasse managed to break out, and Claquesous could taste the smugness.

“_No_,” he growled, running a hand up the back of Montparnasse’s neck, grabbing the hair and pulling it back hard to a satisfying yelp.

“Not doing….a great…job…convincing me,” Montparnasse hissed, sounding breathless despite having no need for breath.

He was baiting Claquesous, and Claquesous knew it. And Claquesous didn’t care.

“Shut up,” he snarled, and grabbed at Montparnasse, dragging him up by the torso until Montparnasse could wrap his legs around Claquesous’s middle.

“Fucking make me,” Montparnasse groaned, like he had already won the tug-o-war. Claquesous hissed, and moved, fast, like lightning through the flat, and dropped the both of them onto the large mattress in the bedroom before Montparnasse could say anything else.

Every movement of their lips would have been hard enough to bruise, had either of them had their own blood to do so. Claquesous held himself above Montparnasse, giving the fledgling space to remove his own shirt, avoiding another incident of having his clothes torn from his body. His body, pristine, cool, and firm mocked Claquesous; he wanted to ruin it, even for a moment.

“Alright,” Montparnasse said, casting his shirt aside and raising his hips to grind up against Claquesous. “Show me just how jealous you are.”

Claquesous didn’t bother undressing himself, didn’t give a thought to the doomed sheets beneath them. He struck like a cobra, viciously tearing into Montparnasse’s neck, diving into the bubbling well of slow-moving blood Montparnasse had collected inside of himself. Montparnasse cried out, arching his back at the attack, grabbing for Claquesous’s shoulders to pull him in further. The blood was still warm, compared to the coolness of Montparnasse’s skin, and still reeking of the living. Of Jehan.

Claquesous’s vision swam red, and he bit again, dragging his teeth to leave long gashes in Montparnasse’s throat. They would heal, leaving the skin perfect and smooth in minutes. But Claquesous wasn’t concerned about minutes – he wanted _now_. Montparnasse moaned as Claquesous ran his tongue over the wounds, sucking at the sluggish lukewarm blood, his hands running roughly over the exposed torso.

“Sous,” Montparnasse gasped, his body starting to shake as he rolled his hips again, his own nails clawing at Claquesous’s back. “Come on, Sous.”

Claquesous pulled back to a high whine, starting down at Montparnasse through the red haze. Montparnasse’s neck was soaked in blood, the evidence of a wild and messy feeding running down his throat – and Claquesous’s chin. He knew he must look like a monster. He hoped he did.

“Fuck,” said Montparnasse, shakily.

Claquesous bared his teeth, fiercely delighted that the gesture could still make Montparnasse shudder. His hands went to the fly of Montparnasse’s dark jeans, easily undoing them and dragging them off with Montparnasse’s desperate help. Claquesous made himself pause a moment, watching Montparnasse squirm under his hands and his gaze.

“Sous, I swear to God, if you don’t-”

Claquesous would have smirked at the pleasure of cutting a desperate Montparnasse off again, had his mouth not been too busy. Pressed between Montparnasse’s legs, Claquesous continued his assault on the young vampire’s body, dragging violent shudders and increasingly desperate cries with the movements of his tongue. He worked at Montparnasse’s body like he was starving – and perhaps he was, though for what he could not quite say. So he doubled down on his efforts, taking Montparnasse’s thighs and roughly pulling them up over his shoulders. They immediately squeezed tightly around Claquesous’s ears, each spasm echoing through Claquesous’s own body. He pressed down on Montparnasse’s hips, with such force he might have worried for the structure of the bedframe, had he been in any mind to do so. Instead, he swirled his tongue, feeling the skin under lips warming with the friction.

Montparnasse’s cries grew muffled, as though he had covered his own mouth to prevent growing any louder. Claquesous knew this habit, and pulled away, replacing his mouth with one rough hand that matched the rhythm of Montparnasse’s hips, building up the strain of his pelvis. Claquesous raised his eyes just enough to see the raw look of ecstasy in progress on Montparnasse’s face, and the bit down hard on his lover’s thigh, sending Montparnasse over the edge with a shattered cry.

Claquesous’s hand did not stop, dragging every shaking moment from Montparnasse’s body as he drank from the soft flesh. Montparnasse tasted of power, and of sex, and of Jehan, even now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the words of one of my favourite podcast hosts, "I van't to make you come" 
> 
> hmu on tumblr @ feyland


	4. Chapter 4

“I have made some new friends!” Jehan announced when their turn came in the round-table check-in. Seated around Courfeyrac’s living room, the attention of Jehan’s friends was as warm as the eclectic surroundings.

Jehan adored Courfeyrac’s home, a space turned into a veritable museum of centuries of Courfyerac’s interests. Books, some hundreds of years old, in dozens of languages, most of which Courfeyrac could not read, lined the built-in bookshelves. Display cases held everything from a tarnished mariner’s compass to a collection of cameo broaches to a small bone Courfeyrac claimed was the relic of ‘some saint or other’. It was a home Jehan never grew tired of visiting, particularly when every piece of the overstuffed antique furniture held their dearest friends too.

“New friends, or _new frieeends_?” Grantaire said, his smile widening as Jehan blushed.

“Completely platonic at the time of this announcement,” they said, trying to hold back a laugh as Grantaire wagged his eyebrows at them. “Though my application does state that I am open to romance and/or debauchery. And while both of my new friends could be considered what the youth of today refer to as a snacc, I was in fact the snack in this situation. I met two more vampires!”

Jehan, though positively bursting to tell the story of meeting Montparnasse and Claquesous, had managed to keep it quiet until the next scheduled meeting of their little group. They had not, however, been expecting the deadly silence that followed the revelation. All eyes were still on them, but the laid-back warmth had given away to an array of emotions. Jehan could read confusion there, and concern, down to open shock.

“You…what?” Grantaire was staring hard at Jehan, with a sudden intensity that made them want to draw back into their seat.

“I just made some friends,” Jehan said again, disliking how small their voice came out, how defensive.

“You fed them.” It was not quite a question, but Feuilly’s manner rarely required them to ask. Their quiet, barely accented French had always felt like it had a weight to it that Jehan had never quite been able to identify, though it called to them to tell Feuilly everything they needed to know.

“Just one of them,” Jehan said weakly, suddenly terribly self-conscious, though they couldn’t exactly tell why. “He was very polite about it.”

“How did this happen?” Enjolras spoke up from across the room. “If there are vampires singling out allies, they could be attempting to dismantle the vampire-human relations we have been working to maintain. If there is a threat to the community we are building, then we might need to-”

“No!” cut in Jehan, with more intensity than they intended. “It’s not- I said I met and befriended other vampires. They didn’t single me out. They didn’t know I knew what they were until I told them.”

“_You_ told them?” said Courfeyrac.

“Of course I did! They were out hunting and I just wanted to help!” Jehan looked around at the faces of their friends, most of which had developed some sort of mask of fear. “What?” they demanded. “What is it? I haven’t even told you their names and you’re assuming the worst of them. They didn’t hurt me. They didn’t bite me without consent. They didn’t overdrink. They didn’t use any persuasion or attempt to muddle my memory. I have no reason to think poorly of them when they were nothing but kind and respectful towards me. And now you’re all looking at me like…like…” Jehan broke off, their throat feeling tight as they tried to blink back tears of disappointment and frustration. They could feel the tension that had settled over the room like a weighted blanket. They didn’t want to look at their friends anymore, didn’t want to find pity and worry in their eyes.

“Cherie,” came a soft voice from the couch beside them, and Jehan kept their eyes in their lap as Musichetta’s hand reached out to take theirs. They squeezed it, despite themself, the cool pressure reassuring rather than suffocating. “Jehan, dearest, I do not think anyone here is judging your actions. There is no distrust in you. But the intentions of strangers are not easy to read, even among the most perceptive of creatures.”

Jehan forced themself to look up. Musichetta’s beautiful face was brimming with a firm tenderness that did nothing to quell the tears building up behind Jehan’s eyes.

“We are so fortunate to have the family we do,” she continued when Jehan did not speak. “There is compassion, trust, and understanding among us here. But those of us who have lived a long, long time have unfortunately seen the very worst of our kind. Vampires who have taken advantage of the kindness of sympathetic humans. Vampires who would not allow a mortal with your knowledge to live. I have known those who believe all humans aware of the existence of vampires must either be killed or Turned, who believe siring is their duty in such cases. Perhaps your new friends are nothing like this. But our first instincts for you are fear for a reason.”

“I am capable of making my own decisions,” Jehan sniffed, but the fight had fled from their chest and they could hear how the words sounded deflated.

“No one is doubting that,” Grantaire said, pained. “It’s just…ethics are harder to parse out when you’re from a different time, and survive on the life force of living things.”

Jehan’s eyes were still wet, their chest still tight, even if they felt a validity tug at them through Grantaire’s words. “Am I supposed to just assume the worst and never see them again? Establishing trust between vampires and humans isn’t exactly impossible.” They squeezed Musichetta’s hand again, passing their eyes over the mixed group of people around them.

They had always felt so lucky to be in on the secret, to have access to memories going back hundreds of years from their closest companions. Over the last few years, their sleep schedule had shifted to account for the many nights staying up to discuss medieval Europe from Feuilly as they remembered it, or listening to tales of Courfyerac’s romantic conquests, people Jehan had heard of through the pages of history coming to life in Courfyerac’s stories. Even the younger of their vampire friends had fascinating observations on the newly stilled passage of time. It was incredible to hear about, and more than once, Jehan had considered a life lived beyond a human span. But it was enough, for now at least, to experience the vicarious histories around them. They just found themself still hungry for more, a prospect they considered when they had met two charming vampires on a quiet city street.

“Well,” said Courfeyrac, “perhaps total abandonment of the friendship is a tad extreme.”

“A chaperone might be appropriate,” Combeferre said, thoughtfully. “I’ve read a few first-hand accounts and journals that indicate some vampires, particularly older ones – present company excluded, of course – tend to have strong territorial senses. If these vampires had any poor intentions towards Jehan, maybe finding them accompanied would dissuade anything malicious.”

“Jehan, for one, is still not thrilled with this,” Jehan offered sulkily, but it was clear that they were badly losing the fight. “How am I supposed to convince Montparnasse and Claquesous that it’s not that _I_ don’t trust them, it’s just my _vampire bodyguards_ don’t?”

“I have heard that name,” Musichetta said, surprised. “Claquesous. I don’t know the other, but I believe Claquesous is a friend of Mardisoir.” She glanced at Bossuet, who nodded.

“I think you’re right,” he said. “That’s something, isn’t it?”

“It is,” said Musichetta decisively, turning her gaze back to Jehan. “I have known Mardisoir for many years. We have not always seen eye to eye on things, but at her core, I believe her to be quite trustworthy, as are the people with whom she associates. She’s collected several wayward younglings over her many, many years, and taught them to be- well, at least decent members of our community. If your new friends are close to Mardisoir, that does bring me some peace.”

Warmth flooded Jehan as she said it, relief coming on quickly, chasing away the doubt that had slipped into their mind without their realizing.

“I think it would better put us all at ease if someone did accompany you next time you meet,” Musichetta continued. “Just to be sure. But I believe we needn’t be quite as concerned.

“_Thank you_,” Jehan said, sincerely, the validation sending a shot of excitement through them as they thought about seeing Montparnasse and Claquesous again. They could manage one chaperoned meeting, if it meant the support of their friends.

*

Later, as they made their way home, feeling lighter with their secret out and the blessings of their community, Jehan nearly missed the movement by their front door, their head so occupied up in the clouds.

They couldn’t help but jump as a shadow peeled off the stone wall, a man coming into focus just before Jehan’s front step. Their heart, too, leapt with recognition as Montparnasse’s face broke into a smile, his fangs starkly visible in the moonlight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This delay comes to you thanks to Jehanparnasse week. Jehanparnasse: Your one-stop-shop for some angsty, tender bullshit, on sale now.


	5. Chapter 5

“Oh!” breathed Jehan. “It’s you.”

“It’s me,” smiled Montparnasse, stepping towards them, and stopping a few feet short.

Something funny twisted inside of Jehan. Their pulse, set pounding from the initial surprise, still fluttered erratically, though they couldn’t quite identify why. Excitement and genuine pleasure of seeing a face they had been thinking about constantly for the past week, certainly. But the words and warnings of their anxious friends just hours before was uncomfortably recent, crawling from their mind into their veins. They shivered.

“How did you find me?” They were certain they hadn’t offered up their address upon their first meeting. And while Montparnasse turning up out of the shadows wasn’t exactly unwelcome, the question of how did hang over them as they tried to make sense of the evening’s turn of events.

“I realize this is…quite forward of me,” Montparnasse said, apologetic. “And probably not really appropriate.”

“I’m not usually thrilled about having men I barely know following me home,” Jehan said, pointedly, crossing their arms over their chest in what they hoped looked like firm coolness. They hoped the movement would muffle the sound of their pounding heart from the vampire’s senses. 

Montparnasse had the sense, at least, to look abashed, his face clouding with understanding and guilt. “I should have realized,” he said, his forehead creasing. “I can go.”

He turned, and Jehan moved without meaning to, taking a step forward to take his arm in their hand. Montparnasse stopped, twisting his head back towards Jehan.

“Wait.” They could feel themself blush under his gaze, and they cursed themself for being so transparent. “You don’t have to. I did say we were friends. I just want to know how.”

Montparnasse seemed to relax a bit, though his brow did not smooth. “It’s embarrassing,” he murmured.

“Serves you right,” Jehan chided gently, letting go of Montparnasse’s arm with a touch of embarrassment of their own. They hadn’t meant to hold on.

“I don’t suppose I can just say it’s a vampire thing and be done with it?” Montparnasse paused, and then laughed out loud at the look Jehan offered him as a reply. “No, I guess not.” He smiled at them, too charming to look at directly. “It is, though. There’s something about walking around with someone else’s blood in you that…sort of connects you. Sometimes that connection is stronger with certain people – I’m not sure why. Claquesous says he experienced it before he…when I was still human. It’s never really been a thing for me before. Until last week.” He smiled again, but Jehan could see tension behind it, an unnatural forced look that attempted to mask something. He wasn’t looking Jehan in the eye anymore.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it,” Jehan said, suddenly wanting to draw his gaze back. It worked – Montparnasse met their eye again, surprised.

“What a coincidence,” he said, a little strained. “That’s what I was going to say.” He shook his head as though clearing away his thoughts. “I was out walking – not intentionally looking for you, I promise – and I felt a tug of sorts. I…had been thinking of you. I don’t know if that helped, or if it was a coincidence, but when I felt whatever it was, it felt like you. So I followed it. Like a string tied to my ribs, like I could feel you on the other end. I got here seconds before you turned the corner.”

Jehan’s heart gave something of a start. “Oh,” they said, feeling their face grow hotter. “That’s…” They trailed off.

“Weird,” supplied Montparnasse. “I wasn’t intentionally stalking you, which I realize is probably how it looks. I’m sorry.”

Jehan felt the edge inside of them give way completely into softness. “You’re forgiven. I’m glad to see you, really. I’ve been…shy, I suppose, to text you. But I did really enjoy meeting you. And whatnot.”

“’And whatnot’,” Montparnasse echoed, smirking. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself as much as I did.”

“I did…” Jehan trailed off. It was strange – they had been too delighted to be nervous the last time they had met. Being face to face with two vampire strangers had been exhilarating – but the nerves that had eluded them a week before were now out in full force within them. Something about the way Montparnasse spoke, the easy transition between flippant and sincere, affected Jehan more than they cared to admit. And beyond that, a seed of guilt was planted in their gut as they considered that Montparnasse might be looking for more than conversation.

“I’ve already fed someone tonight,” they blurted out, and ducked their head in embarrassment. “I was with my friends. I don’t…have enough to share with you. Right now.” They took a breath, continuing before Montparnasse could reply. “I just wanted to let you know. In case you had other places to be. I don’t want to waste your time. And maybe in a few days, if you could wait…”

That was reckless, Jehan knew. They shouldn’t offer such a thing. Vampire venom, they’d been told (by a very excited Combeferre when his curiosity-induced experiment had yielded proof), was restorative, helping red blood cells regenerate at a faster pace, allowing for a greater supply of blood for vampires while minimizing the impact on their human source. Still, though, the effect was not immediate, and Jehan’s friends were strict in their rule of never feeding more than once per week on their human allies. And yet – something about the curve of Montparnasse’s mouth against their throat had more to do with the shivers running through them at the memory than the venom itself did.

“A pity,” Montparnasse said, just a touch too flippantly, and Jehan looked up at his face again just in time to catch the faintest hint of real disappointment there. “Too bad that’s the only reason I wanted to see you again.”

He said it lightly, clearly joking, but the words stung at Jehan’s insecurity, flustering them enough to realize too late what they were saying.

“I mean, you can still come in if you’d like.”

They tasted the words as they fell out of their mouth, unable to bite them back. Montparnasse froze. Jehan opened their mouth, then closed it, unsure of what else would escape.

Something stifling welled up in Jehan’s throat, their mind racing with careful warnings from their friends about the intricacies of the truth behind vampire lore. Private spaces required an invitation. The invitation could not be coerced, even through heightened persuasion skills – Jehan had seen the theory tested first-hand, when Bahorel had moved into a new flat and had had far too much fun leaving half of his guests out in the hallway at the start of his housewarming party, despite Courfeyrac’s best efforts. And maybe that was the problem – the comfortable familiarity of the welcome offers they had shared with their vampire friends. Maybe that comfort had taken away the sharpness of the warnings: be careful who you invite in. Never offer an invitation to someone you don’t trust with your life, and your death. Never invite in a stranger. But Jehan had released the offer like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like there was something to trust in the beautiful young man who had found his way to them, drawn by the blood they shared.

What did that make him, then?

“You don’t have to mean it,” Montparnasse said, his voice low and husky. His eyes raked Jehan’s face, taking in every detail of their clear panic. “I can pretend it I didn’t hear.”

Jehan took a breath, and let it out. “But you did hear,” they said, offering a weak smile. Something else surfaced next to the anxiety at Montparnasse’s offer – an easing. Maybe it was too late to take it back, but maybe it was just as well. Dancing thoughts that had invaded their mind over the past week were swirling a little too close to the surface. “And I could mean it. If you like.”

Montparnasse stared at them a moment, and Jehan made themself meet his eye. They had to remind themself that he really did look his age – that he was likely just as young and foolish as they felt.

“I…would. If you’re sure.” Montparnasse gaze never wavered, waiting to pick up any ounce of regret from Jehan’s features.

How could they be sure?

“I am,” they said, and moved past him, unlocking the door before they could doubt themself again, and gestured for Montparnasse to follow. “Come in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mistakes Were Made, my dudes


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: talk of blood

Jehan was all too aware of their heartbeat as Montparnasse crossed the threshold of their flat. They steered him into their small living room, watching him take in the eclectic décor as they turned on a trio of lamps, filling the room in warm light.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” they said, and when Montparnasse did just that, settling onto the couch with an elegant casualness, Jehan had to turn their head to hide their blush.

What was wrong with them? The first time they had met, Jehan had floated away feeling excited, confident, and brave. Somehow, in the week they had had to swallow the events of that first night, they had managed to train themself into a mess around the handsome young vampire.

“I, ah, don’t have anything to offer you to drink right now. My friends tend to stick to a schedule, so I don’t generally keep anything bottled at home.”

“Not a problem,” Montparnasse said, easily. “I would rather be staked through the heart than drink cold, coagulated blood anyway.”

Jehan laughed – louder than they had intended, but a breath of anxiety seemed to leave them when Montparnasse smiled at the sound, looking genuinely pleased with himself. As he had every right to be, thought Jehan. Even if he hadn’t been hunting, he had certainly succeeded in easily catching Jehan in his general aura. It surrounded him like smoke, both masked in shadow, and with the promise of fire hiding beneath.

“I do have candles,” Jehan said, trying to shake the heat of Montparnasse’s gaze.

“I…don’t think I can eat those,” said Montparnasse, a thin line appearing between his brows.

Jehan wanted to throw themself from the window.

“No, no, I mean- I don’t have anything to offer you to eat, but I have a lot of candles. You can pick a smell, if you’d like.” They waved their hand at the dozen or so large candles scattered around the room. “It’s...kind of silly, I know, but I feel weird not offering you anything. It’s the least I can do, as a host.”

“Oh,” said Montparnasse, a mixture of surprise and understanding. “Alright, then.”

“You pick something. I’m going to get myself some juice,” Jehan said quickly, and then bolted into the kitchen. Leaning up against the counter, they took a deep breath, trying to calm the tide of rapid thoughts assaulting them. They couldn’t quite understand what about Montparnasse was making them so flustered – why it was different from the time he had approached them on the bank of the river and attempted to woo them into becoming his meal. Certainly, having a handsome near-stranger in their home could have been enough to make anyone nervous, but he had been just as handsome, and much more intentionally charming at their first meeting.

Perhaps the charm was the catalyst here. Coming face to face with a hunting vampire with a honeyed tongue had spurred Jehan to reply in kind. But the cracks in Montparnasse’s façade had begun to show when he admitted how he had found them again, an honestly that seemed to have wormed its way into Jehan’s mannerisms too. Unlike their first meeting, which had been something of a performance, tonight felt like a new dance they were both struggling to learn.

Jehan returned to the living room with a glass of lemonade and a cookie – a habit they had picked up from years of donating blood prior to meeting anyone who required a direct donation - to find a new flame dancing from the wick of the candle that smelled of smoke and leather. They couldn’t help but smile at the choice, which seemed terribly appropriate for Montparnasse. 

Feeling slightly emboldened from their pep-talk to themself in the kitchen, Jehan sank into a seat at the far end of the same couch as Montparnasse, pulling their knees up to their chest.

“I like your place,” said Montparnasse. “It’s kind of the polar opposite of mine. But in a good way.”

Jehan wondered if he had tacked on the last assurance because he had seen the heat rise in their cheeks again. They turned their eyes away quickly, pretending to scan the cheerful clutter of their home.

“Yeah? What’s your place like?”

“I’ve always been something a of a minimalist,” Montparnasse said, and he seemed to relax a little bit – Jehan hadn’t noticed the tension in his frame until it had slipped off. “First because I didn’t own much of anything - easier to move around that way. Eventually, I just came to prefer the aesthetic.” He made a face. “Although the more time Claquesous spends in my flat, the more pieces of his ‘collection’ seem to turn up.”

“Do you two live together?” The question came out innocent, but Jehan felt a pinprick of something beyond simple curiosity that they didn’t care to acknowledge.

“Ah, sort of. He has a house in Les Lilas, but I try to avoid the suburbs as much as possible. Why anyone would waste their eternity away from anything that makes life worth living is beyond me. But he’s more or less moved into mine at this point.” Montparnasse sniffed. “You would think having an entire house to store his trinkets would be enough for him, but apparently he would rather ruin my perfectly curated aesthetic.”

“What is his collection like,” Jehan asked. They were curious, to say the least, about Claquesous, though they weren’t quite sure where the slight tinge of resentment towards him was coming from. It was a strange, and rather foreign feeling to Jehan, and they tried to push it away in favour of the comment that had piqued their interest.

“Weird,” huffed Montparnasse. “Stuff from all over the place, from all different times. I’ve let him know that there are museums for collecting old stuff – they might even take him in and stick him behind glass if he wanted to be around them so badly – but he seems to think that he needs them as reminders of his life. As though he doesn’t have a bloody flawless memory for all of that anyway.”

“I think it’s nice,” Jehan countered. “I think I would be the same way if I had lived- How old is Claquesous?”

Montparnasse grinned, fangs tucked away but the sight of his slightly opened mouth sent a shiver through Jehan nonetheless.

“Ancient. Over 220 years old. Dirty old man.”

“That’s not so old!” Jehan said. “I have friends who are double, triple that!”

Montparnasse waved the comment away. “Sure there are _older_ vampires around. But he must be in his cantankerous phase. It’s not his fault, I guess, that he was always meant to be stogy old man. You would think he would have wanted a fledgling to keep him up to date on what’s current, but apparently he just wanted me for my body, and not my brains. Shame, really.”

“You’re…together, then?”

Montparnasse didn’t answer straight away, and Jehan worried they had asked the wrong thing. They knew, certainly, that not all vampires had romantic relationships with their sires. Many didn’t even maintain contact long after the fact. But the only fledgling-sire relationship they knew intimately was when Joly had joined Musichetta and Bossuet, to insure their love would last longer than a single lifetime, and the reverent, passionate core of their affections seemed only to have heightened once Joly had been Turned.

“Yes,” said Montparnasse at last, and Jehan felt something strange shoot in their chest. Whatever dance their heart was doing, they hoped Montparnasse couldn’t hear it. “We’ve never, like, put it into as many words. I’ve never called him my boyfriend, or whatever. But we were…a thing…before, and now I guess, we’re…more than just a thing. But not necessarily exclusive.”

Jehan frowned. “It doesn’t sound like you’ve communicated too well about it,” they said, cautiously. “Non-monogamy tends to need a lot of openness to work well. So I’ve been told.”

Montparnasse ran his hand through his hair a couple of times, as though trying to unwind his thoughts. “I mean. Yeah. I suppose. I haven’t actually slept with anyone since he Turned me. But when I hunt, I often, well, make out with people. Get them riled up. Get the blood pumping. Claquesous is usually with me, though, and he hasn’t ever said anything about my technique.”

“Sounds like that could be the opening for a conversation, if you know he’s already okay with kissing,” Jehan murmured. They couldn’t help but wonder if Claquesous would be okay with all kissing – not just when Montparnasse was hunting. They shoved the thought down again.

“Maybe,” Montparnasse said, uncomfortably, and Jehan hurried to change the subject.

They talked for a while longer, swapping little details their initiations into the world of the vampires of Paris. Montparnasse shared a little of his own history, and an even smaller amount of Claquesous’s – Jehan didn’t press. Jehan repeated stories they had heard from their long-lived friends, trying to list every historical figure Courfeyrac had claimed to have slept with, and how Musichetta had become known in academic circles as the leading expert on Afghanistan’s history since the mid 1700s, when she had been born there.

They were enjoying the pride of once again making Montparnasse laugh when an alarm sounded from his pocket. He made a sound of annoyance as he pulled it out.

“Five a.m.,” he said, silencing the ringing. “I should get going. Bloody early sunrises.”

Fatigue was pulling at Jehan’s eyelids, but they felt something akin to disappointment nonetheless as they stood up with Montparnasse.

“We should do this again,” they said. They paused, and then added, “And if you give me enough notice, I can make sure I can offer you a proper refreshment. If you’d like, that is.”

Montparnasse smiled at them as he moved to the doorway. “I’d like,” he said.

There was a beat of silence as he hovered in the doorway.

“Do you do hugs?” Jehan blurted out, feeling themself turn pink.

That smile again. “I do with you,” Montparnasse said smoothly, and stepped forward to meet Jehan’s embrace.

_Just friendly_, Jehan told themself as his arms closed around them. They could feel the smooth coolness of his skin even through his shirt, and his hold was strong, but a touch strained, as if he were carefully controlling how he held them.

They tried to smile naturally when they drew back again, wished Montparnasse a good day, and promised to do the same. They watched him descend the stairs from their flat before they closed the door, fighting the pull to go to their front window, to follow his form down the street until he was out of sight. Instead, they leaned back against the door, took a deep breath, and tried to convince themself they were anything other that completely fucked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My desire to write More Dramatic Shit was overruled by my love of Healthy Communication.
> 
> this time.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw - blood drinking, references to sex, some PG13 romance stuff

Claquesous was reading when Montparnasse slipped into the apartment, shutting the door against the long, reaching fingers of dawn. He didn’t look up at the sound, and responds with only a low hum at Montparnasse’s greeting. He flipped the page, his brow furrowed at the height of conflict playing out there. It was only when Montparnasse strolled a little too casually into the living room did Claquesous glance up. It may not have been obvious to some – certainly not a human – but Montparnasse had a slightly hollow appearance to him that told Claquesous he had not fed, as Claquesous assumed he had left the apartment to do. There was no lingering smell of freshly consumed blood on his lips, or the easy, cocky attitude of recent satisfaction.

A fainter smell, though, lingered on his skin, and buried into the fabric of his clothing, along with something smoky. Had it been anyone else, Claquesous might not have noticed it at all. But the scent was just a touch too familiar, and far too recently acquired.

He shut his book.

“How is Jehan?” he asked quietly.

Montparnasse stopped short, watching him, as though trying to gage a reaction on the perfectly blank face.

“You can tell?”

“Faintly,” said Claquesous, tilting his head. “You did not feed. But you touched them.”

“I didn’t-” Montparnasse started, then stopped, visibly wrestling his thoughts into something coherent. “I mean, I hugged them. I sort of…ran into them. We hung out for a few hours. Just…talking.”

Claquesous nodded once. He didn’t say anything.

“I’m not, like, cheating on you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Montparnasse’s tone had shifted into something defensive.

“I was not worried,” Claquesous said. He was not certain if that was true, but it came easily enough from his lips. He meant to say more.

He didn’t.

Montparnasse huffed an unnecessary breath, and threw himself down hard onto the couch next to Claquesous. His long legs knocked against Claquesous’s, in a way that felt intentional, and Claquesous followed Montparnasse’s face as it set into a grim determination.

“Alright,” Montparnasse said. “We’re going to talk.”

“Are we.”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, this isn’t like a breakup or anything. I’m not even sure a breakup is something that could happen with us. Which is kind of the point, I guess. I just- want to know. Are we a thing?”

“Slang,” Claquesous said simply, an word that had grown as a shorthand for them, indicating he wasn’t certain of the meaning of Montparnasse’s modern vocabulary.

“Are we together?” Montparnasse supplied. He sounded riled up, though he lacked the body language for anger. There was the vibrations of tension in the air, certainly, but Claquesous could not quite discern the nature of it. “A couple. Are you my boyfriend?”

Claquesous paused. Words in a half-dozen languages, with titles that had changed over centuries, carried through his mind. Partner. Companion. Lover. Boyfriend, though, sounded like a greater kind of promise – one he and Montparnasse had not yet made to each other.

“I do not know,” he said steadily, even as braced for Montparnasse’s reaction. The young vampire’s temperament was still volatile with youth, not yet bearing the years of stasis to anchor his moods.

Montparnasse just rolled his eyes.

“Do you _want_ to be my boyfriend?” he asked, the bravado slipping just enough for Claquesous to see the tinge of self-consciousness below. “Because I’m in if you are.”

Silence was so often Claquesous’s trademark. But in some cases, it was only right to break it.

“Yes,” he said. “I want to be your boyfriend.” He watched Montparnasse’s face break into a relieved smile, and the pacing beast in Claquesous’s chest seemed to settle at once. “But,” he continued, and nearly regretted it when Montparnasse stiffened again. “There are…anomalies for us, for promises like this.” He shifted, turning towards Montparnasse, knowing his expression was too serious, could see it reflected in Montparnasse’s face. “We build relationships off of a foundation of humanity,” he said, carefully. “It is what we knew at one time, and it is a simple model to follow, at first. But while humans commit to one another for a lifetime, at the longest, we have far longer to define what we have become, both alone and in the company of another.”

Claquesous felt the rare desire to take a breath, as though he had a pounding heart to sooth.

“I say this not to turn you away,” he continued. “But I do not want to bind you to me at the consequence of your happiness, and the progression of your existence. I have taken your life from you already. It would bring me shame to take your freedom as well.”

Montparnasse was watching him with dark eyes, shadows of hunger lingering below them. They all but vanished, though, when his mouth twisted into a crooked smirk.

“Is that all, then?” he asked, the hoarseness in his voice not quite matching the vision of confidence. “You feel guilty about Turning me, so you’ve been avoiding actually asking me out?” He scoffed. “I can’t tell if this is weird old Samurai shit, or just weird old man shit. Either way, you worry too much.”

The last words were all but growled as Montparnasse pushed himself forward, kissing Claquesous hard on the mouth as though to punctuate the conversation.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he said pulling back just the slightest bit. “If you don’t want me kissing any more of my meals, I’ll stop. If you want to have a side thing with another hot piece of human ass, you go for it. If you want to, I don’t know, have a wild and bloody threesome, we can do that too. I don’t care about that shit. We can talk about it. I just want you. Before. After. Now. I’ve always just wanted you. I’m a vampire, not a fucking psychic. I don’t know what the future looks like, or what I will want in three hundred years. But I know what I want now.”

It was Claquesous that initiated the next kiss, matching the strength of Montparnasse’s initial attack. His kisses were rough, open-mouthed, and, once Montparnasse’s fangs inadvertently descended, bloody. He could feel the intoxication run along the scratch on his lip, and he felt the familiar craving for more begin to grow.

“Come. Feed from me,” he rasped, dragging Montparnasse up onto his lap, where the fledgling straddled him, their foreheads pressed together.

“You sure?”

“I fed yesterday. And I want you.”

Montparnasse groaned, grinding down slightly against Claquesous, and didn’t hesitate to sink his fangs into his sire’s neck. Claquesous hissed a sigh of pleasure as he leaned back, letting Montparnasse drag the cool blood from his body. He wanted – many things, desperately. He wanted Montparnasse here on his lap forever, the friction between them heightened as Montparnasse’s venom already rushing through him. He wanted Montparnasse’s contentment, his happiness. He wanted – something to do with the smell still clinging to Montparnasse’s skin.  
  
“Perhaps,” he croaked, his throat moving under Montparnasse’s eager mouth, “perhaps next time you could bring your new friend. Perhaps they might enjoy-”

“Later,” Montparnasse growled, lips at Claquesous’s ear. “We can talk about it later. Right now – it’s just you. Just you and me.”

Claquesous managed to nod, just once, before Montparnasse’s teeth broke his skin again, and left him beyond words.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for light alcohol consumption

Montparnasse had been kind enough to give Jehan plenty of notice when he had texted to invite them over. Two weeks to build up a blood supply, if they felt like sharing, along with the assurance that they were welcome whether or not they wanted anyone drinking from them. Montparnasse’s text was polite, and thoughtful, and allowed for far more notice than Jehan necessarily needed.

It had, however, given them plenty of time to become a nervous wreck.

They had been feeding their friends for years. The experience was always pleasant – they always enjoyed the heat and the euphoria of a successful exchange – but the act of donating blood to hungry vampires had lost the initial adrenaline boost. Somehow, though, those heart-pounding feelings had returned, as though woven into the words of Montparnasse’s invitation. 

There was one more thing about the it all that set Jehan’s nerves alight: Montparnasse let it slip that Claquesous would be there.

Jehan’s mind had wandered to the older vampire many times since they had met him – Montparnasse’s quiet, darkly intriguing sire. Montparnasse spoke of him casually, affectionately, but still with a hint of reverence in his tone. Whether that came from the blood connection between the two of them, or just the dynamic of their relationship, Jehan didn’t know. They felt their anxiety building in them in the days leading up to what they had teasingly suggested Montparnasse dub “The Dinner Party”. While Montparnasse had seemed at the very least amused by Jehan’s flustered insecurity, Jehan worried at the thought of Claquesous’s stoicism.

The worry followed them up until they found themself ringing the bell to Montparnasse’s flat in Montmartre, just after midnight. It certainly did not help that when Montparnasse answered the door, Jehan’s breath caught in their throat at the sight of him. It seemed as though he had dressed up – just a little – for the night’s meeting. His shirt had a collar, and his trousers bore no artful distressing. Expertly smudged eyeliner framed his bright eyes, and the smile he gave Jehan was from lips that looked stained ever so slightly with lipstick, perhaps, or blood. Jehan forced their eyes not to linger, offering Montparnasse their own smile and greeting in return, before following him up the worn wooden steps to the third floor.

The space inside was half-lit and cool, its minimalism looking spartan compared to the eclectic chaos of Jehan’s own living space. Still, it looked like a home – of a very particular sort of person. The open kitchen to Jehan’s left was pristine from lack of use, but the living room wore its well-hung dark curtains, thick black rug, and sleek furniture with all the grace of the flat’s occupant. Jehan did not miss the other person present in their sweep of the room. Claquesous sat in a sleek leather armchair, looking almost relaxed, though his eyes followed Jehan as they stepped in from the doorway.

“Do you want something to drink?” Montparnasse said, at their elbow. “I have wine.

“Oh! You didn’t…have to get anything for me.”

Montparnasse smiled that smile again, crooked, like he had a joke Jehan hadn’t quite found their way into yet.

“I would argue that it’s only polite for a host to go out of his way, but in this case, I didn’t. It’s leftover from my human days.” He scoffed. “I was saving it, like an idiot, and missed my chance. But this may as well be the special occasion I was waiting for.”

“Oh,” said Jehan again, hoping the darkening of their cheeks wasn’t noticeable. “Well in that case, how can I refuse?”

“Good,” he said, and Jehan felt like they had passed some sort of test. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Jehan almost sank down onto the square of couch closest to the door, but a disgruntled tug at their insides made them reconsider. Trying to draw up the air of easy, nerveless energy their adrenaline had pushed out on their first night meeting the two vampires, they moved to the end closer to Claquesous, and sat, attempting to mirror the comfortable set of his frame.

“It’s good to see you again, Claquesous,” they smiled, pleased with the lack of waver in their voice. 

Claquesous’s dark eyes were impossible to read, even alive and sharp as they were. “And you,” he replied. “I hope I can offer you a better impression this evening. I have lived a long time, but the way in which we met was quite new to me.”

His voice was even, and measured. Practiced, even. Jehan waved the apology aside.

“No worries,” they said. “Seriously. I know I certainly surprised Montparnasse. Not to mention myself, honestly. I hadn’t exactly prepared for what to do if I met any vampires when I was out on my own. I know I was a bit…strange. Really, if I were smarter, I wouldn’t have let curiosity take over my actions so often.”

“Well I for one am glad you aren’t smarter, then,” Montparnasse teased, suddenly at Jehan’s side, handing them down a wine glass. They flushed as they took it. They hadn’t seen him move towards them, hadn’t given themself the time to school their heart into a steady rhythm. If he could hear it , they hoped he would chalk the sudden quickened pace up to surprise.

“Poor manners to insult a guest,” Claquesous murmured as Montparnasse joined Jehan on the couch. “Especially when you have things to ask of them.”

Montparnasse made a noise of protest. “I was going to let them get at least a little comfortable before propositioning them,” he said, indignantly.

Jehan’s brow creased, uncertain of the meaning of Claquesous’s words, and cocked their head towards Montparnasse.

He sighed. “The _plan_,” he said, glaring towards Claquesous, “was to ask- I mean, if you enjoyed yourself tonight, if you would want to make it a more regular thing?”

Jehan’s mouth felt dry. “Oh,” they said, and then, because it seemed like Montparnasse was waiting for more, “like a ward?”

“Ahh,” Montparnasse said, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, not really. Not specifically. I didn’t- I know that’s, like, a more formal…thing. I meant-”

“Montparnasse enjoys your company,” said Claquesous, his voice filling in the stumbled holes of Montparnasse’s words. “And he is in need of better company than I can provide alone.”

Montparnasse started to protest, but Claquesous held up a hand to silence him. Jehan dimly wondered how many people could do that.

“Montparnasse is not yet far from his human existence. I believe meeting you has been a boon to him. Someone of his own years with whom he can still enjoy the remnants of his humanity. Things he has taken pains to pretend he does not miss.

Montparnasse scoffed, but stayed otherwise quiet, his glare turning darker.

“A human with a knowledge of what he is, and what he needs,” Claquesous carried on. “Whether or not blood is exchanged, I believe a companion like you would suit him well.”

“This isn’t what we talked about,” gritted out Montparnasse, before pulling a face and looking to Jehan. “Not- about you. I do want to…spend more time with you, if you like. He’s just going off-book. And he’s leaving out some stuff.”

Claquesous shrugged. “It is not much of a confession. The proposition is not for Montparnasse alone. If you are amiable, I would be pleased to share in your company as well. I have an interest in humans who interact with our world. I have an interest in you, Jehan.”

Jehan shivered at their name. They felt vaguely dizzy. It was one thing to hope the invitation had been an offer of relationship building. It was another to be asked point blank for something just short of a ward oath. They could hear the vague sounds of disapproval and distress that sounded remarkably like their friends flickering through their mind. They knew what such an offer would sound like to their community, so focused on vampire/human interactions. They knew what it would mean to Jehan themself to accept.

They took a sip of wine.

“I, ah, was not really expecting that,” they said, hoping it came off smooth, free of the flutters tangling in their brain. “I’m not opposed. I mean, I’m actually very, ah, into the idea? But I think we would need to have a clearer discussion of expectations within this...relationship.”

Claquesous nodded. “I understand. The nature of feeding, particularly from someone with whom one has grown close, can be particularly intense. Montparnasse and I have discussed the matter, and how it applies to our own relationship. If it pleases you, we would open those channels of emotional and physical intimacy to you.”

Jehan almost choked on their next sip of wine. Beside them, Montparnasse groaned loudly, burying his face in his hands.

“Sous,” he said, muffled. “That is. _By far_. The most awkward proposition for a hookup I have ever heard.”

Jehan couldn’t help themself. The conversation was so unexpected and strange, a fire inside of them that had lost all control, with the whiplash of Claquesous’s formal tone, and Montparnasse’s ragged loss of control heaping kindling it. They began to laugh. The nerves needed to come out one way or another, and the shaking of mirth was better, they figured, to any of the alternatives. They sucked in air, struggling into a fragile calm as they faced the two vampires.

“Alright,” they said, with more finality than they felt they had earned. “We’re going to talk about this. But first, we are going to loosen up a bit.” They set their wine glass down on the coffee table, and reached up to unbutton the top two buttons of their shirt. “I think it’s time for a drink.”


End file.
